Page 52

This was Owen’s home.

Not hers.

Amber bit her lip. Where was her home, anyway? Ever since her mom and dad died, and Jonathan sold the house to divide the profits between them, she’d had no place to come home to. She’d let go of her apartment before she went to serve in Afghanistan. In a way, the army was her home.

Until that home had betrayed her.

So what now?

What she really wanted was to go back to her time, get the murdering, drug-smuggling bastard behind bars, and clear her name. A life in hiding, of looking over her shoulder, of anger at the injustice, would eat at her soul. If she were brave enough, she would make her way back to Inverlochy and go through the stone back to the twenty-first century. She’d go to Jonathan. She’d hire an attorney, and she’d work relentlessly on gathering evidence against Jackson.

But those were only dreams. The reality was Jackson would crush her. She wasn’t strong enough to take on a giant like him. She’d never confronted her brothers in the past, and she hated that she was a helpless coward.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I definitely can’t go back to my time. They’ll get me there.”

Owen presented a magnificent view—a medieval warrior sitting proudly on a horse. A strand of his blond hair fell across his forehead. The bruises on his face added roughness to his handsome features, and his bristle was turning into a short beard the color of wheat, white gold, and a little bit of amber. She could sink into his green eyes and be lost there forever. That would be a wonderful home for her.

“So if ye canna go back”—he swallowed—“what will ye do?”

He was perfectly still, waiting for her to reply, and yet she could see his chest rising and falling faster, and the vein in his neck pulsing quicker.

What would she do? She could stay here in this time.

Was she actually crazy enough to consider that? The brawny Highlander in front of her had nothing to do with it. It was safer here…for the most part. When she wasn’t being chased and tortured by the English.

“I suppose I could stay here. Your family won’t want to put me in a dungeon, will they?”

He laughed. “Nae. Ye’re safe with us. And I promise de Bourgh wilna touch a hair on yer head if I have any say in that. So will ye be a guest of our clan?”

“A guest? Sure. And thank you for the kind invitation. But what could I do here? How could I earn money? I don’t think I can do anything that’s useful here.”

“Usually, women get marrit, and their husbands provide for them. I could ask the clan chief, my uncle Neil, or my da to find ye a husband.” His jaw tightened as he said that.

Amber laughed. “I’m not going to get married in medieval Scotland!”

“If ye plan to stay here, ye’ll need someone to protect ye. Even a strong lass like ye needs either a father, or a brother, or a husband.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own. Maybe you can teach me some of that sword-fighting so that I can protect myself.”

“Aye. I can. But first, let’s go home.”

For the last two days, on their way from Stirling, they’d been careful to avoid the roads as much as possible. Dressed as English, danger lay from both the Highlanders who could kill them on sight, and from the English who might find out they weren’t English at all. Not to mention de Bourgh’s men were no doubt still looking for them.

Owen fascinated her. Not only was he eye-candy, but ever since he’d shared the story about the gold, she couldn’t help but feel a connection to him, like a miracle had happened and she’d scored a winning lottery ticket.

She loved riding next to him, and he told her more stories about his clan, explained about the war, and told her about Craig and Ian. She’d slept by his side, but he hadn’t tried to kiss her or made any move. He’d lain next to her as stiff as a statue.

She was puzzled by the sudden physical distance he kept after how close they’d been earlier, and she was also a little hurt by it. Why was she so unattractive to him all of a sudden? He’d wanted her before. She’d seen his very impressive erection in the inn. She’d felt it in his kisses and in the simple touch of his hand. In his hug. Was he so appalled after her confession that he couldn’t stand to touch her now?

Not that it should bother her at all. Caring for him would complicate everything. It was something she couldn’t afford.

They rode towards the castle and stopped in front of the gates. Archers stood on the wall, arrows pointing at them.

“Who goes there?” a male voice rumbled.

“I thank ye for nae shooting us, Malcolm,” Owen said. “Do ye nae recognize me?”

A man with white hair down to his shoulders and a white beard appeared from behind the rampart.